


Bloodlust

by vforvillanelle



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Season 2, bloodkink, no regrets, see you all there!, set somewhere post S2x05 and between 06 if that helps, this is sick and I'm going to hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 15:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vforvillanelle/pseuds/vforvillanelle
Summary: In an effort to help Eve embrace her darkest impulses and to remain the focus of her intense, adoring attention, Villanelle indulges Eve’s unconventional way of cleansing her haunted memories of Bill-and Eve’s way involves lots of blood.





	Bloodlust

_ Kinks are totally specific. It’s not just about pain, it’s a contract. It’s about someone else taking control. _

Eve could feel Bill’s words lingering in the air even as she entwined her left hand in Villanelle’s hair. It cascaded down her long neck and curled slightly at the end where it eventually stopped just shy of her breasts. Eve gloried in the feeling of Villanelle’s hair slipping between her fingers like honey coloured silk. She gently rearranged it behind Villanelle’s ear until her neck was bared. Villanelle languidly tilted her head to the side and offered a ghost of a smile. Eve breathed sensitivity onto her smooth skin. 

Villanelle exhaled when Eve placed a lingering kiss at her pulse point, followed by the softest traces of a moan when Eve’s tongue trailed down to the hollow of her throat. She stayed there for a few moments, lost in thought. Her left hand slid upwards to bury itself in Villanelle’s hair again and her right rested at Villanelle’s hip. While her mind insisted on recalling memories of Bill, Eve continued kissing all along Villanelle’s throat and jawline in a fervent attempt to bury them. 

The quiet of the living room helped Eve concentrate on the punctuation of Villanelle’s sighs; the comfort of the leather couch allowed Eve to press closer to Villanelle and in turn sense every shift in her increasingly receptive posture; and the subdued lighting seemed to hush the outside world while allowing the desire between them to simmer like embers primed to burst into renewed flames. 

But Bill remained at the forefront of Eve’s mind. Not even Villanelle guiding Eve’s face up toward a deep kiss was able to obliterate the sight of him bleeding to death on the dance floor right in front of her. Eve blinked. A flicker of rage began to warm her heart. 

“What is wrong?” Villanelle asked as soon as she could gasp air back in the wake of the kiss. 

Eve smiled thinly. “Nothing. Sorry.” 

“Do not bullshit me, Eve. You were lavishing me with kisses and then you  _ stopped _ . What is on your mind?” 

Villanelle had fixed her with that stare, the one that made Eve feel recognized and exhilarated and acutely aware that the intensity in Villanelle’s gaze felt like she was ramming knives through Eve’s eyes, gleefully pushing and pushing until they burst out the back of her skull. There was no point in deflecting or denying, not with Villanelle. 

“I was thinking about that nightclub in Berlin. About the night...the night you murdered Bill.” 

As the words hung between them, Eve realized that her eyes had fixated on Niko’s fedora. It was hanging innocuously from a nail on the wall adjacent to the kitchen. Niko hardly wore the damn thing. Eve spotted it when she came home earlier with Villanelle, the both of them exhausted from the day’s work at MI6 under Carolyn’s unwavering watch. Eve had even nudged the fedora back to a centered position as Villanelle declared from the kitchen that she would pour herself a glass of red wine. And yes, Eve remembered that she’d called back to Villanelle that she wanted white wine for herself, which was how they’d both ended up on the couch-sipping wine and pretending to conduct follow up research on Eve’s laptop, until Villanelle promptly slammed it shut. 

Niko’s fedora was mocking her now, Eve realized, because it was the same type that Bill had worn in Berlin. The same kind of hat he’d died in.

Villanelle’s voice was gradually coming to Eve as if she was hearing it from underwater. With great effort, she refocused on Villanelle, watched the way her luscious lips moved when she spoke.

“I remember Berlin,” she was saying. “I wore your pretty green scarf.” Then Villanelle’s eyes suddenly lit up. “You were there in that club!”

Eve recalled the heat of the club, the massiveness of the crowd, the rank stench of sweaty and wasted bodies smashing together, the haze of smoke and lights.

“Yes.”

“That man-“

“Bill!”

“Yes. Bill,” Villlanelle emphasized slowly, “he was your...friend?”

The pounding music, the sensation of being swallowed by the hive, the red and blue lights violently slicing the gloom to reveal Bill’s ravaged chest, his slack face, the pool of blood around him.

“He was my best friend.” Eve could feel her eyes stinging. She decided to cling to her mounting rage instead. “Last time you were in my house, you told me that you killed him because he was slowing me down.”

“And he was. Just as he is slowing you down now.” Villanelle yawned and stretched in the most exaggerated way possible. “Just think, if you had not been so hung up on him at the time, you could have caught me that same night. We could have been together so much sooner!”

Eve wanted to slap Villanelle. Eve wanted to shove her away, to propel them both farther apart and reach a somehow safer distance. Eve wanted to strangle Villanelle, to choke the smugness from her gorgeous face. Eve wanted to crush the violence and the cruelty and the pain out of her body, forever.

Instead, all Eve managed to do was snarl, “You’re a fucking psychopath.”

“Oh my God, how is this still news for you?” Villanelle rolled her eyes. “Besides, I told you before that you should never tell psychopaths that they are psychopaths because it upsets them.”

“Upset?” Now Eve had shot to her feet. It felt good to move, to tower over Villanelle right about now. “You have no idea how upset you are making me feel!”

“I can understand how you feel.”

“Then you obviously don’t give a shit!”

“You are right, Eve. I don’t give a shit about you being upset, because you were pleasing me and I was allowing you to continue. Actually, now you are making  _ me _ very upset! We were having fun until you conveniently remembered that I was a psychopath. Should I keep reminding you of this or do MI6 health plans cover short term memory loss?”

God damn it, Villanelle had managed to make her laugh, even if it was a mirthless laugh somehow ripped from the very back of her throat. Eve sank back down onto the couch and held her head in her hands.

“You don’t need to keep reminding me. I don’t think I can ever let myself forget.”

“Okay. Are you done now? Can we go back to having fun?”

Eve’s shoulders slumped. “You killed my best friend. I just...I can’t just get over that. God, Villanelle…” She could hear how raw her own voice was, how it nearly broke over the next few words. “You feel amazing. You are amazing.”

“I know.”

“But it kills me to think that about you, to feel the way I do about you, to-to want you so fucking much.”

“Oh.” Villanelle’s voice was too quiet. “What would God say?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked Anna that, you know. Before the very first time we had sex.”

Eve peered at Villanelle through her fingers.

“She was just as guilty as you. She was always telling me about how she hated herself for loving me, how guilty she felt. It never stopped her, though.” Villanelle propped her arms on her knees and rested her chin in her hands. “Then the last time I asked her about God-well. She didn’t really give me the answer I wanted. So I came up with my own: it doesn’t matter what God would say.”

Eve swallowed hard. “I don’t believe in God.”

“There, you see? No guilt. Simple.” When Eve did not respond, Villanelle pressed her. “But you are still scared...are you scared of God?”

“No.”

“Are you scared of going to hell?”

“No.”

“Then what is the matter with you, Eve?”

“Listen, I just-I need a moment. Okay? Let me put our wine glasses in the dishwasher.” 

Eve walked over to the kitchen. She could hear Villanelle sauntering along behind her. She could feel Villanelle’s gaze searing into her back as vividly as if the woman herself was touching her. Eve turned on the kitchen faucet and thrust her hands under it. The shock of the icy water momentarily diverted her attention. But she could see, past the showered droplets on her skin, that her hands were trembling. The rage was still smouldering inside her. She ran the water even colder. 

Which was precisely why she did not hear Villanelle sneak up to her. Eve became aware of her presence only when she felt Villanelle’s breath on the back of her neck.

“Eve, you know I am a psychopath. You know that I kill people for money.” Villanelle spoke softly, barely audible above the rushing water. She slowly dragged her hands along Eve’s spine, firm enough for her fingers to leave an impression yet light enough for her touch to be just tantalizing.

“You know this and you accept it already, Eve. On your own terms. And now with our work, even Carolyn has made you accept it, made you live with it.” 

Villanelle’s fingers roamed into Eve’s hair. Insisting. Teasing. Soothing. Scorching. Eve turned the faucet off.

“I know you can accept the truth of yourself in the daylight now, too. I know you can accept Bill’s death…” Villanelle’s hands lazily lowered to the sides of Eve’s throat. “And I know you can accept that I killed him...and that you can still love me.” 

The second she felt Villanelle’s hands tighten around her throat, Eve spun around as fast as she could. Propelled by her thunderous rage, Eve meant to shove Villanelle away. Except that Villanelle’s reflexes ridiculed Eve’s movement; Villanelle seized her outstretched arms and used Eve’s vicious momentum to follow through. She pinned Eve against the refrigerator. Again.

Villanelle smirked. She coolly observed Eve’s struggle, applying more pressure on her wrists to prevent Eve from breaking her grip. Villanelle made sure that her words found their mark as accurately as any bullets she had ever fired from a gun.

“Bill followed me into the nightclub. Unarmed. Your best friend was not very clever, Eve.”

Eve’s eyes burned with delicious emotion. Her hair was wild. She continued to struggle. 

“I was being stalked by a creepy old man. Of course I had to kill him! It was only self defence.”

Villanelle exalted in Eve’s sharp cry as she twisted her wrists in the most pressured, painful way.

“Besides, if I had not killed him, how long do you think you would have lasted at MI5 before dying of boredom? Bill was only slowing you down. Holding you back. If I had not killed him, you never would have made it this far in MI6.”

Yelling incoherently, Eve tried to breach Villanelle’s grip. “Eve, listen to me! Before the nightclub...I saw you on that metro platform.”

Eve stilled. “What?”

“You were wearing an elegant trench coat. And underneath it, you had that blue dress with the black belt.” Villanelle loosened her grip a fraction but pressed herself further into Eve’s space. “Fuck, you looked so hot. A lapis lazuli in the middle of that dirty crowd. I could not do anything but stare at you.”

Villanelle let her voice grow huskier with every word. “Konstantin told me to watch you. And as soon as I saw you, I could not do anything else. I was wearing your green scarf around my throat, too. It smelled exactly like you, felt just like your touch. So soft…” Villanelle ran her thumb over Eve’s bottom lip until her mouth parted. “So warm.”

She felt Eve’s stance slacken and then let go of her wrists, only to press her forehead to Eve’s. “I would have followed you inside that train. Maybe even returned your scarf. Except Bill stopped me. He kept me away from you. But you see Eve, nothing can keep me away from you.”

They remained in this position until Eve steadied her breathing. “I’m very flattered. And still very angry.”

“What should we do about that?”

“I uh, I want to punish you, Villanelle. Maybe even punish myself in a way, I guess.” Eve rushed the words out as if they were tearing her to pieces inside. “But mostly, I want to punish you.”

“I understand. Because I suppose that I still want to punish you for stabbing me.” Villanelle’s eyes glazed over while she contemplated some sinister thought. “You know, I ripped out a woman’s throat last time I was in jail. There was a lot of blood. A  _ lot _ . It was amazing.”

With that, she leaned in. Her teeth grazed Eve’s throat, sharply paralleling the place where Eve had kissed her earlier. 

“I have an idea,” Eve panted suddenly. 

“Is it a fun idea?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Let me show you.”

Eve crossed over to the kitchen cupboards, then began hastily pulling out the drawers. Villanelle watched her sort through various towels and utensils and spices until Eve triumphantly held up a sizeable black tube with a red label.

“What is that?”

“It’s a leftover from Niko’s Halloween party last year.”

“Yes, but what is inside?”

“Niko thinks it’s ketchup,” Eve said with a chuckle, “which is why I’ve kept it away from his chips.”

“Why do we need not ketchup?”

“Ah, we...that is to say, us-well last year, there was this guy that came dressed like Count Dracula and he brought way more of these tubes than he actually needed, and I just took one and kept it, although really I’ve been meaning to throw it out and-

“Eve!”

“Okay, okay, it’s fake blood!” Eve hastily recited from the label. “It’s viscous, nearly opaque, made mostly from food colouring. It washes off easily with soap and water. And oh! It’s so safe you can even eat it, I think it tastes a bit like chocolate.”

Villanelle stared at her.

“Fuck, it was just an idea. We don’t have to do it, but it’s just that-” Eve ran a hand through her mane of hair in exasperation. “This way we can make it look like we punished each other, without actually killing each other.”

The clock over in the living room ticked loudly.

“Eve-”

“Alright, fine, yes! I want to have sex with you, covered in fake blood.”

The clock over in the living room ticked louder.

Villanelle’s eyebrows shot up to a lethal degree. Her gaze remained on Eve.

“If I help you with this,” Villanelle almost whispered, “will you love me better?”

“Yeah. I will. Probably.”  A wicked grin spread across Eve’s face. “There’s just one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You have to let me be in control. Just like when we were in Paris.”

“If that is your version of being in control, panicking  and getting towels and shit, then I’ll pass.”

“Villanelle-”

“Or maybe I should get a knife? Would that make you feel more in control?” She moved to one of the drawers.

“No! Stop, Villanelle.”

Villanelle sighed. “Are you sure you want to do this? With me, Eve?”

Eve drank in the sight of Villanelle standing there, in the kitchen, just where she had stood before. As if Eve hadn’t been imagining her there ever since, as if Eve hadn’t spent many sleepless nights with Villanelle on her mind, as if Eve hadn’t lain beside her snoring husband and let her hands wander beneath the covers, imaging Villanelle was there instead. And now, here she was. Tempting. Waiting. Ready. 

““God help me, I do. But I don’t want to do this back on the couch. Let’s go upstairs.”

By the time they reached the bedroom, Eve’s head was spinning. Through delirium, she saw Villanelle shed all her clothes and sit on the edge of the bed. She had swept the grey bed covers off with a flourish and then laughed in a carefree way that somehow felt just like summer sunlight. 

“These are not Liliana Rizzari’s sheets.” Villanelle stroked them lazily, not taking her eyes off Eve for a moment. “But I suppose they will do.”

Eve reached the foot of the bed and delicately poised the tube of fake blood on it. Eve’s gaze wandered down to Villanelle’s scar and lingered there as she undressed. She warmed the tube by slowly rubbing it between her hands, noticing Villanelle’s hazel eyes following her every movement much like a feral cat measured every twitch of its prey. Colour began to rise in her face the more that Eve prolonged the wait, and she noticed that Villanelle’s nipples had perked in the still, cool air.

Finally, Eve squeezed the fake blood into one palm then pressed her hand against Villanelle’s scar. Her gasp was harsh and rough. She arched into Eve’s touch. Eve’s breath escaped her with a hiss and she dropped to her knees to be level with Villanelle’s scar. More blood poured into her hands and she spread it around, tracing the faint rise of skin along the gash where the knife had been; smearing the sensitive, slightly inflamed area around it; pushing against Villanelle’s heaving abdomen until whimpers spilled out of her.

Eve remembered how Villanelle’s real blood had poured over her hands, hot and thick and intoxicating and flowing, unstoppable, insatiable. Soaking Villanelle’s blouse, gushing out when Eve withdrew the knife, staining the sheets and the champagne soaked hardwood floor, coating Eve’s hands and crusting around her nails, sticking to her fingers and refusing to be washed away. 

Now there was blood on her hands again, she was coated past her wrists with it. She grasped Villanelle’s hips and pressed her tongue to Villanelle’s scar; Eve’s eyes flicked up in time to see Villanelle’s head fall back in ecstasy. Eve continued dragging her tongue along Villanelle’s scar, murmuring in between licks, placing bloody handprints on Villlanelle’s stomach and then her back when she needed to steady her from toppling. 

Villanelle found the tube in the meantime, and she drenched her hands in blood too. She rubbed Eve’s shoulders to get her attention, then grabbed her by the throat. Villanelle sat upright and she forced Eve to a standing position while her fingers remained locked in place. Eve’s chest heaved. Her dark eyes glittered. Villanelle squeezed hard enough for the blood to swell up and leak from the top of her grip. She kept squeezing as the blood dripped down the sides of her hands, lazily falling to stain the sheets between her thighs. 

When shudders wracked Eve’s body, Villanelle let go. Eve immediately shoved her roughly back down and emptied the rest of the tube onto Villanelle’s stomach. She teasingly pressed her knee between Villanelle’s legs, grinning at the heat and wetness she felt there. Eve’s hands travelled up and down Villanelle’s flanks all the while. Revelling in the sensation of Villanelle’s smooth skin burning beneath her hands, at the vivid crimson gradally covering her entirely, at the heavy musk lingering in the air between them. 

Eve slathered more blood over Villanelle’s breasts. She worked each nipple until it was completely hardened and darkened. Her mouth followed suit, sucking in time with Villanelle’s gasps. Villanelle gripped Eve’s hair, tugged at it with each stroke of Eve’s tongue. Eve paused and gazed down at her fondly. She drew a heart on Villanelle’s chest, right where it should be. Villanelle giggled. 

Then she flipped Eve over. Pressed her own body down until she covered Eve. Began to scrape her body against Eve’s to smear the blood onto Eve’s breasts, stomach, thighs. And her face, tracing around her eyes and her lips and slipping shaking fingers inside Eve’s mouth until she sucked them clean. 

In turn, Eve slid two fingers inside Villanelle and produced a strained moan by rubbing Villanelle’s clit achingly slowly with her thumb still slickened by blood. Villanelle mirrored her movements. The both of them were pressed close enough to share increasingly shallower breaths. Eve’s free hand wound its way into Villanelle’s blonde hair again; the contrast of the blood against the honey struck Eve so viscerally that the lust slowly pooling low in her gut seemed to suddenly swell and fill her completely. 

Eve cupped Villanelle’s chin and kissed her deeply. Their lips were red, raw and wet and relentless. It felt like soaring, like a rebirth. Eve could have come from the intensity of the sensation alone. 

But then Villanelle decided to consume them both.    
  
“Oh fuck, baby!” Eve cried out as Villanelle straddled her hips. She began to grind on Eve’s throbbing clit, carving more friction the more that Eve swore and rasped out her name. Villanelle whined as Eve’s slickness coated her own clit and the heat blossomed between her own glossy thighs. She quickened the pace, hummed happily when she was rewarded with Eve’s unhinged growl. 

Villanelle was so close, so fucking close. Her thighs trembled. She pinned Eve’s hands, seized Eve’s gaze with her own, and frantically moved her hips through a movement that made her swear once in Russian, then once in French for good measure. Eve’s hips bucked and hurled Villanelle over the edge too. 

They remained on top of each other until they slowly kissed themselves back down to reality. When they had both showered and dressed, Eve regarded the bloodstained sheets with a groan. 

“I have to do the laundry before Niko gets home or he’s going to kill me.”   
  
“No, darling Eve.” Villanelle reassured her in a delicate, sing-song voice. “Niko will not kill you.”

“Oh, are you going to do that yourself then?”

Villanelle kissed her and replied:   
  
“It would be entirely my pleasure.”


End file.
